Evening settled across the plains, the sky stained with deep violet as the first stars began to glimmer.
At the tail of the small caravan rolling peacefully along the flatlands, Momonga—her cheeks faintly flushed—finally lost patience and raised her voice.
"Please—how long are you all going to repeat that story!?"
Lukrut, strolling nearby, turned toward her with a bright, unashamed grin.
"Aw, come on, Momon-chan. We were just gettin' to the good part."
"Indeed. Beldran's eyes were positively sparkling," Ninya added with scholarly seriousness.
"Sorry, Momon… it's just… I still can't calm down," Enfi said, sounding more like an excited boy than a grown man. "I want to hear more of your heroic exploits…"
Swept away by their enthusiasm, Momonga's protest collapsed. The tale resumed.
She pressed a hand to her forehead with a tiny sigh.
They were retelling—again—the Swords of Darkness version of Momon's heroic saga. Having witnessed her battle with Zy'tl Q'ae's monstrous World Tree-like entity, they'd been reenacting the whole thing like traveling bards since yesterday, enthusiastically performing it for anyone in Carne Village who would listen.
Over and over.
And over and over.
By the time Momonga and the others returned from the forest, the villagers had already learned the truth from Nemu:
Momon = Albedo.
Thus, every retelling was met with fanatical excitement and reverence.
To the villagers, the tale had become less "adventurer's story" and more "holy myth of the benevolent goddess who saved us."
When each retelling ended, everyone erupted into a standing ovation… only for another villager to say, "Wait! Let me tell it from my perspective!" and start again. With gestures. With added drama. With improvised divine imagery.
It was endless.
It felt like a cult revival meeting, complete with missionaries preaching and devotees swooning.
Momonga wanted nothing more than to quietly slide out the back door.
And yet—they all looked so happy.
The celebration in Carne had been full of food, drink, and warmth; she couldn't deny that part had felt… good. But the villagers' gazes—especially toward Momonga—had begun to cross the line from admiration into outright worship.
Nemu, of course, looked impossibly proud.
And then the next morning, as they departed the village, Enfi begged again: Please, just one more time, and the Swords of Darkness launched into another live rendition.
They even started adjusting the narrative structure—experimenting with how to best portray Momon's magnificence.
Each version drifted further into divine embellishment:
"She descended like a goddess!"
"A pair of white wings shone from her back!"
"A heavenly beam of light spotlighted her heroic form!"
Momonga wanted to bury her face in her hands.
Half of what they said was true, yes—but she simply saw herself as someone who had lucked into crazy power due to the game.
It made all the praise painfully itchy.
"Sorry, Momon," Ninya said gently as she moved beside her. "I know you don't seem to enjoy being put on a pedestal."
"It's… not exactly pleasant," she admitted.
She laughed softly, rubbing her cheek.
Then:
"Do you remember our team name?"
"Of course. 'Swords of Darkness.'"
"Right. The name actually comes from one of four legendary magic blades from an old fairy tale. I was the one who insisted on it. Our dream was… well—getting all four swords together."
"Fairy tale… heroes, then?"
"Exactly. And the amazing part is—those swords are real in this world."
Her interest was instantly piqued.
"One of them is in the hands of Lakyus, the priest-warrior of the Adamantite team 'Blue Rose.'"
"I see… I would like to witness that someday."
"Yeah… well… since one blade already has an owner, our dream kind of died early on."
Ninya laughed, clearly over it.
"But that's why we admire heroes. We wanted to be like them—legends from the old stories. And then… someone even greater than the Thirteen Heroes appeared right in front of us."
She looked straight at her.
"You, Momon. What you did… it was incredible. Please—let me give you my admiration. For us, you're the pride of this entire world."
Her voice was sincere—painfully so.
Pure, transparent devotion that pierced straight into her chest.
Momonga touched the chin of her helmet.
Then quietly shook her head.
"No… I don't want that."
Ninya blinked.
She stammered.
"Ah—right, of course… we were getting ahead of ourselves. We shouldn't force this on you, we—"
"It's lonely."
"…Eh?"
She looked up.
Through the crack in her broken helmet, her jade eyes watched a distant mountain ridge.
"You called me your comrade back then. Treating me like some distant 'hero'… honestly, it's lonely."
"Momon…"
"You can brag about me to outsiders all you want. I don't mind. But when we're together like this… please don't treat me like something untouchable. We became comrades, didn't we?"
Ninya's reaction was immediate and explosive—like a sunflower bursting into bloom.
She shouted "YES!!" with such volume that the entire group turned around in surprise.
Lukrut and the others rushed over:
"What's going on, Momon-chan?"
"Hey hey, share with us too!"
"What did you talk about!?"
Ninya, grinning like an idiot, said "Nothing at all!" while Enfi watched happily from behind.
By the time E-Rantel came into view, the mood was warm and lively.
They passed through the checkpoint well after sunset. Guards nearly panicked seeing Momon's damaged armor—only to melt into adoration when they realized who it was.
"Let's report to the Guild tomorrow morning," Peter said, exhausted.
"I can go now," Momonga offered.
But Peter shook his head.
"No way, Momon. You're the star of this whole journey. Let us handle the chores."
"But it was everyone's job—"
"And besides—how would you report it? Something like 'Oh yes, and by the way, we casually defeated a world-ending treant in the forest.'"
"Ugh… well…"
He had a point.
Reporting "We defeated a world-ending monstrosity" would achieve nothing except drawing ridiculous suspicion—and attention.
She didn't want attention.
She wanted a quiet adventurer life: enough gold for good meals, a clean inn, maybe a small home one day.
Becoming Adamantite and gathering public fame would only expose her non-human nature.
Yes—slowly rising through the ranks was ideal.
And Peter had just casually steamrolled that plan.
"…Please take care of it," she said with defeated calm.
"Of course!" Peter beamed. "We'll give the report properly."
Her peaceful life cracked like thin ice.
They reached the Bareare Pharmacy.
Conversation drifted to drinking, celebration, teasing Enfi about Enri—everyone loud, cheerful.
And then:
"Welcome home."
A voice.
Sweet.
Cheerful.
And monstrously wrong.
A woman with catlike eyes and a predatory smile stood inside the shop.